


Foam, Beans & In Between

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Free to a good home, Hurt/Comfort, coffee shop AU, continuation free to a good home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 02:34:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7600081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time, it's raining. Daisy and Jemma meet by chance, and their relationship blossoms - but are they ready to take it beyond the soft, warm, cozy cafe and out into the real world?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foam, Beans & In Between

**Author's Note:**

> I'm totally not in the multichap zone at the moment (am I ever?) but if you want to expand or continue this you're very welcome.

You may also like [Skimmons Drabbles & Ficlets Collection](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5864041/chapters/13516015) (& others, see my profile)

-

The first time, it’s raining. Daisy jogs into the coffee shop on the corner, her regret at not having eaten breakfast slowly increasing as the day heads down a miserable track. She’s ruined her shoes, and her hair, dropped her purse – though fortunately, picked it up again – and she’s thirty seconds from running late and starting not to care. She’s too cold to care, and wet to the bone, and it’s sapping her energy like some sort of nightmare beast.

She surprises the girl at the counter, who looks her up and down with a frown before the smile returns. Not just a customer smile, though, it’s broader than that, and her eyes are sparkling. Daisy wonders if she’s laughing at her, and decides to lean into it, puffing at a strand of hair that is stuck to her face, as if it was simply dangling there.

“Working hard?” the counter girl checks, biting back a giggle as Daisy sweeps – or rather, drags – her disobedient hair to a tolerable position.

“Any second now,” Daisy replies. “That’s next on my list, after chatting up cute girls.” 

The counter girl blushes, and Daisy blushes too, her heart racing as she hears herself. 

“Sorry. I’m cold and in a rush. These things slip out, you know, I – um, Americano, please, is my point.” 

She shovels coins onto the counter until the girl stops taking them, and as the girl moves away, Daisy realises that not only has she thoroughly made a fool of herself, she doesn’t even know the girl’s name. 

“Order for – um –“ 

The coffee girl stops, and looks around for her, still blushing. 

“Daisy?” Daisy suggests, reaching for the coffee. 

“That’s a lovely name!” the girl blurts, her grin spreading again, and Daisy smiles at the sight. “I’m Jemma, by the way.” 

They stare at each other for a second, until Jemma blushes, and laughs nervously, and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. 

“I should get back to work,” she insists. Daisy almost drops her coffee as she dives into action. 

“Right! Work! Of course! Bye!”

Coffee sloshes onto her hand – a surprising amount, through the tiny hole in the plastic lid – and she curses to herself as she sprints outside. It’s still raining, but she doesn’t mind so much any more. There’s a spring in her step, and a smile behind her eyelids, and she resolves to leave the house a few minutes early tomorrow.

- 

The morning rush passes, and Jemma waits at the counter. She’s faintly aware of standing on her toes, but she’s reluctant to acknowledge it because doing so means acknowledging she’s waiting…and who she’s waiting for. It means admitting she’s hung-up on a complete stranger to whom she’s spoken for maybe two sentences. And yet, even this realisation doesn’t stop her impatiently capping and uncapping the marker as she busies herself with counting and arranging the receipts, napkins, anything she finds lying around.

“Hey there!” she hears all of a sudden. “Jemma, right?”

Jemma looks up, and grins when she sees Daisy – slightly less flustered, and significantly drier, than the day before.

“Daisy!” she recalls gleefully. “What can I get you? Americano?”

Daisy shrugs.  
  
“Got any suggestions?”

“I’m a fan of lattes, myself,” Jemma explains. “Depends how much you like milk though. Perhaps a cappuccino?”

“Sure. Sounds good.” Daisy laughs and shakes her hand as she pulls out her payment. “I must sound like such a noob. This whole city-coffee-9-to-5 thing’s a bit new to me.”

“Coffee’s not just for nine-to-fivers,” Jemma explains, “and actually, an increasing percentage of the workforce no longer works those hours. More and more jobs are either staggered for traffic, shift work, or part time. Or, you know, services who start at dark-o-clock in the morning.” 

Jemma shrugs, and moves to the coffee machine, and Daisy can’t help but wonder where she got that information from. She spoke with such authority, too. Not with the authority of a 24-Hour “I saw a documentary on this one time” Expert. No. It was the authority of somebody who had reason to believe almost everything she said was informed and correct. There’s no reason for a coffee provider to have such a tone…but then, there’s no reason why they shouldn’t either, Daisy supposes. Besides, for all she knew, Jemma could work five minutes a day here and spend the rest of her time winning Nobel Prizes.

“So, um,” Daisy offers, trying to sound a lot more casual than her intrigue would allow. “What do you do? I mean – apart from this. Is there anything…study…hobbies…”

“I’m doing a PhD in biochemistry – xenobiology, actually. I have a little dog. I like cooking, birdwatching…long walks on the beach…” Jemma laughs, and finishes making the coffee as Daisy – not entirely consciously – begins trying to recall the location of the nearest half-decent beach.

“What about you?” Jemma asks, snapping Daisy out of her thoughts. 

“Me? Oh, I’m a techie for a security company. It’s pretty cool. I…have a van, an ancient piece of junk hippie van. I like music, I can sort of play guitar. I sing. And art, I guess? I draw and paint and stuff, in my free time.” 

“No beach?” Jemma teases. 

“I’m a New Yorker,” Daisy says with a shrug. “What’s a beach?” 

- 

They carry on like this for weeks, with Daisy coming in every morning she can, and Jemma making a different coffee every time – she even starts practicing foam art, and tasting combinations before she determines them fit for consumption. They spend longer and longer sitting with eachother, stealing what time they can around work. They learn little facts about each other, here and there, like that Jemma can horseride and do ballet and play the violin, and that Daisy once hitchhiked across the US, and she can fire a gun and she’s trained in stage combat and stunts. Along the way, they start to learn big facts about each other. Jemma’s an immigrant from England with sometimes crippling loneliness issues and a major God complex, and Daisy’s an orphan who doesn’t know her parents or her heritage and use her lack of knowledge to fuel a sometimes ferocious quest for the truth in all things. As they learn, coffee by coffee, they fall in love.

It takes a long time for them to burst the bubble, and push their relationship out of the warm, aromatic little café. It’s nothing special, just a walk in Central Park, but they each hide their blushes and how their hearts are set to racing when they realise that it’s about to become real. It’s no longer a movie or a video clip, where their café exists separate from the world outside; they’re embracing it, and embracing each other. They’re each anxious and exhilarated in equal parts, and time seems to slow down as the time approaches.

When it arrives, Daisy finds herself standing by the agreed lamppost, alone. She breathes into her hands and switches from foot to foot. It’s unlike Jemma to be late. She checks her watch, just in case, and looks around, but she is nowhere to be seen.

“Dark oclock,” she mutters to herself, shuffling against the cold. “Where are you, Jemma?” 

The sun rises and the day begins to warm, and Daisy finds a park bench and a giant pretzel and is trying not to be overly critical. It was an unusual occurrence; perhaps it had simply slipped Jemma’s mind. Perhaps she had the date wrong. It didn’t necessarily mean she was less excited about it, Daisy had to tell herself, just that she had a lot going on. In fact, maybe she was _so_ excited about it she’d got nervous and chickened out. On the other hand, maybe Daisy was in the wrong. She’d checked the time and date but maybe she’d been at the wrong lamppost this whole time, and they’d laugh about it on Monday. Then again…maybe it was something completely left of field. Maybe something serious had happened.

Daisy takes a deep breath and stands up, looking around one more time, just in case. She pulls out her phone and checks the time. It’s approaching seven, so Jemma would almost definitely be awake, appointment or no. Daisy can’t help but feel a knot of worry begin to form in her stomach as she thinks of the prim, flowery handwriting that had given her the number she was entering into the phone. To think that something had happened, either to Jemma or to their relationship, is somewhat dizzying. Jemma’s voice when she finally answers is so much so that Daisy drops like a stone back to the park bench.

 _“Daisy – I’m so sorry –“_ Jemma sniffles, strangled with tears. _“My friend was in an accident, he’s in a coma, I’ve been at the hospital all night.”_

“Which hospital?” Daisy asks. 

 _“What?”_ Jemma wonders, confused.

“Which hospital are you at?” Daisy repeats. Then she takes a deep breath, and holds it. Is she overstepping? If so, she still can’t help but feel a little comforted, if surprised, by the question. By the immediate offer of support. She’d been nervous about moving this relationship to the real world and here they were, with Jemma at least standing neck-deep in realism, and surviving.

 _“I – um –“_ Jemma stammers, warring with the urge to say, _I’m okay, you don’t have to. “St Anthony’s. Ward 31B. Ask for Fitz if you get stuck.”_

_-_

The bus ride is hellishly slow, but once Daisy gets to the hospital, the ward is easy to find. She has to check herself before bursting in, and creeps in instead, to find Jemma sitting in silence, with tear streaks on her face. 

“Are you okay?” Daisy asks. 

Jemma sniffs, and nods, unclenching her fist from an overused tissue to wipe at her eyes again. Daisy pulls a small pack of tissues from her own bag, and switches them.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Jemma shakes her head. 

“I’m not sure- I’m not sure I can.”

More questions flood Daisy’s mind, but she pushes them aside and reaches for Jemma’s hand. 

“His mother’s coming from S-Scotland,” Jemma explains. “I can’t leave him until she gets here. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Daisy assures her. “I can stay right here too, if you want.”  
  
It takes a few seconds for Jemma to agree, but gradually, she melts as far into Daisy’s comforting embrace as their seating arrangement will allow. After a night on high alert – more than that, if the anxiety about the Central Park date counts, though it feels trivial now - she feels herself settle. She doesn’t have the energy or the confidence in her own voice to talk anymore, but she thinks Daisy and Fitz will get along brilliantly when they get the chance. 

 _When._ Not if. _When._

Jemma smiles.


End file.
